Revelations
by Victoria May
Summary: A trauma affects Jim and those closest to him, and all learn the fine art of letting go.
1. Dawn of a New Day

Dawn Of A New Day  
By: Victoria May  
  
The courtyard was crowded. It looked as if all of Cascade had shown for this year's declaration of Cop of the Year. The Cascade Optimist's Club had worked hard planning this year's event. White lights lay draped over bushes and climbed the trunks of trees, exploding in a frenzy of white twinkling stars in the branches. Cascade's finest were littered across the wide yard, clutching small plates of finger sandwiches, veggies and dip, and a selection of desserts. Champaign flowed freely and in the far corner of the gaily lit yard, a small but cheerful group raised their glasses for a toast.  
  
"I think we can all guess who this year's recipient of Cop of the Year is going to be, but before he, or she-ehem, gets that honor, I'd like to commend all of you for a job well done. You've all worked hard and have nothing to be ashamed of. Only one officer can receive this particular honor, but, I want you all to know-you're the best damn team I've ever had the honor of working with." To a chorus of 'here-here!' and 'cheers!' Captain Simon Banks lifted his glass and saluted the men and women of Major Crimes.  
  
After the backslapping and hugging had died down, Simon cleared his throat and raised his glass again. "As I said, we can guess who this year's recipient is going to be-again, but there's someone else here who I think also deserves a little recognition for his contributions to the department, and more importantly his contributions to our Cop of the Year." He paused and looked around before catching sight of the resident observer. "Sandburg, get over here and quit hiding behind Taggert."   
  
Simon waited while Blair Sandburg, BA, MA and hopefully soon to be Ph.D. was pushed, pulled and dragged from his hiding place behind the explosive's expert. As soon as the smaller man was near enough, a long, dark arm darted out and snatched at his coat sleeve, pulling the observer closer. Holding up his hands to silence his troop, he began again.  
  
"I just wanted to-publicly-thank Blair Sandburg for all he's done for Major Crimes. You're not a cop," he stopped and laughed at the look on Blair's face. "Didn't expect that one, did you?" he teased before continuing. "You're not a cop, but I have a feeling that if we could just get you into the academy, you'd be a first rate officer and I wouldn't be surprised to see you up there on that stage receiving this award. But, since you aren't a cop, you'll just have to settle for this." Simon turned and extended his hand, closing his fingers around a lumpy, cloth covered object. Pulling it in front of him, he slid the cloth off and held up a small plaque.  
  
"Blair Sandburg, I'm pleased to present you with this award, Observer of the Year." With that, he handed the plaque to the smaller man and reached to shake his hand.  
  
Blair looked at the small award in awe and surprise. He blinked back the tears he could feel pooling in his eyes and looked at the small crowd that was gathered around. "I don't know what to say," he began.  
  
"How 'bout 'thank you'?" a voice called out.  
  
Blair looked up and grinned. "Thank you. I can't believe you did this, but thank you."  
  
When Simon saw that his observer wasn't going to say anything else, he sighed and rolled his eyes. Raising his glass, he toasted, "To the man of many words, Blair Sandburg, for going above and beyond the call of duty for an,"  
  
"Observer!" the crowd called out, whistling and cheering.   
  
Blair found himself in the midst of excited cops, all wanting to shake his hand and slap him on the back. When the crowd finally cleared, he looked up to find his friend and roommate, Detective Jim Ellison at his side.   
  
"Congratulations Sandburg," the detective said, pulling the younger man into a quick hug. He released Blair and snagged the small award out of his friend's hand. "Nice," he complimented, using his shirt cuff to polish the glass overlay.   
  
"Was this your idea?" Blair probed the older man before reaching for the plaque.   
  
"Nope. This was purely Simon's idea." At Blair's incredulous look, he added, "Well, a few of us may have bent his ear just a little, but he was all for it. Said it was about time you got some recognition."  
  
"Uhuh," Blair said, doubtful. Before he could continue, the speakers held high in the trees, crackled to life.  
  
"Welcome to this year's Officer of the Year banquet and award ceremony." The voice of Cascade's mayor floated over the yard. "It's been a long year. Many good things have happened this past year, but unfortunately there's also been lots of crime. I'd like to thank all of Cascade's finest for doing their best to keep us safe. Let's have a round of applause for the men and women of the Cascade Police Department!"   
  
A loud cheer arose, followed by the thunder of applause. When the noise died down, the mayor continued. "While all of you have done your very best to keep the streets safe for our loved ones, putting murderers, rapists, drug dealers, and thieves safely away behind bars, there is always one officer who stands out above the rest. Going that extra step, risking life and limb to protect us all. This officer is not a glory hound, but a man dedicated to doing his very best. This man has taken that extra step in the past and has done it again. But, before I introduce this individual, his father has a few words he'd like to say."  
  
The mayor stepped back from the podium and gestured for another man to step up. The man was tall, with graying blond hair and mustache. The man, William Ellison, began to speak.  
  
"I didn't raise my son with any hopes that he would become an officer of the law. I should have had some clue that this was where his life was headed when he graduated college and joined the military. Instead, I'd always held out for my son to see the light and join me in my business pursuits. To say the least, I was disappointed. I wanted to be able to brag to my friends about my son's business conquests. I wanted to say, this is my son, I am so proud.   
  
"I wasted so many years that way. Waiting for my son, James Ellison to see things, to do things my way. Today, as I stand here, I want to say that I am glad that I was wrong. I am glad that my son never saw fit to bend to an old man's whims. Instead, he followed his own heart, and in the end, that heart led him here. My son is a protector, I know that now. And today, I want to say, I am proud of my son, Detective James Ellison, Major Crimes division and this years Officer of the Year. Congratulations Jimmy."  
  
Jim blinked as flash bulbs exploded in his eyes and hands pounded his back. He looked around in a daze before his eyes settled on his partner and guide. Seeing his friend's proud smile was all it took to wake him from his stupor and he began to make his way towards the podium and his father. He looked ahead, at his smiling father and could feel the grin spreading across his own face. His father was proud of him, and damn did it feel good.   
  
Jim had almost reached the podium when the crackle of gunfire filled the night. Screams echoed through the courtyard and bodies jerked in a dance of death before collapsing into piles of tangled limbs. Like watching in a dream, Jim could see his father convulse as bullets pieced his chest, his arm, his head. He fell, lifeless to the ground.  
  
"Noooo!" the scream ripped out of him and he ran, stumbling and slamming into anyone who got in his way, until he was kneeling on the ground at his father's side, cradling the bloody head in his arms.   
  
"Dad, dad, it's okay, helps coming-don't you die! Not yet! Not when we're just finding each other again. Please, dad, don't leave me-don't leave me alone!" the cry echoed over the courtyard.   
  
The piercing cry of sirens answered, and soon the yard was bathed in red and blue flashing lights. Gentle hands attempted to coax the fallen man away, out of the safety of the sentinel's arms.   
  
"No! Leave him be. Don't touch him!" the grieving man cried, wrapping his long arms tighter around the still form of his father. He sat, rocking the man who had only just told him how much he cared, how much he regretted. How much he loved his son. It was too soon for him to go. They'd only just begun to repair their relationship. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right and Jim Ellison wasn't ready to let go.  
  
"It isn't fair!" The sorrowful sound was almost drowned by the sobs that shook the large man's body. "It isn't fair."  
  
"I know Jim, I know." Large arms were suddenly around him, holding him and supporting him. "I know Jim. It isn't fair. I know."  
  
"Simon," the mourning man said, never lifting his head from atop his father's.  
  
"Yeah Jim, it's me. You have to let him go now Jim. Come on. Let him go." Simon's dark hands reached down and settled over Jim's.  
  
"He's dead."  
  
"Yeah Jim. I'm sorry. I am so damn sorry." He patted Jim's tightly clenched hand. "Come on Jim. You have to let him go. Someone else needs you now."  
  
Jim shook his head. "No. They're all gone. No one needs me any more. I'm alone now. He left me alone."  
  
"No Jim. You're not alone. Your partner needs you now. Come on." Simon stood and tugged on Jim's jacket. Reluctantly, Jim lay his father's lifeless body onto the ground and stood.   
  
"I have to go to his house. I have to tell Sally." Jim began to walk away from his captain, towards the parking lot.   
  
The taller man caught up with him easily. "Jim. You need to go to Cascade General. I'll have someone drive over to your house-Rafe, or Conner. But I need you to come with me. Blair needs you right now."  
  
"I have to call Stevie. He doesn't know. He couldn't come-he wasn't here." Jim continued to walk, oblivious to what the other man was saying.  
  
"Jim! Listen to me damnit!" Simon wrapped his fingers around Jim's sleeve and held on. The other man helpless in his grasp. "Blair was hit. He's at Cascade General. He needs you right now. Right now Jim. There's nothing else you can do for your father. But you can be there for Blair."  
  
The pale face seemed to glow in the moonlight. Slowly, Jim shook his head. "Blair doesn't need me. That's not how it works. He doesn't need me-I need him. That's how it's always been. Blair's strong. A fighter. He'll pull through. He always does, Simon."  
  
"No Jim! Not this time. He-it's bad Jim. He may not make it. He does need you. Damnit Jim. Don't do this to him! Not again. Not on my watch. If I have to throw you over my shoulder to get you there, you're going. Are you hearing me?" Simon demanded of the stoic man in front of him.  
  
Jim continued to stare straight ahead. "I hear you," he whispered.  
  
"Thank god," Simon breathed. Steering the grief stricken man to his car, Simon sent up a quiet prayer that Blair Sandburg still be alive when they got there.   
  
The ER was full, most of the bodies in the waiting room, Cascade PD officers and their families. Simon found a bare spot of wall and pushed his lead detective against it. "Wait here," he gruffly instructed. Pushing his way through the throng of people, he grabbed hold of a passing nurse.   
  
"I need to find out about one of my people," he commanded, flipping open his ID and flashing it at the young, African-American nurse.   
  
"I'm sorry, officer," the nurse began before a large brown hand was held in the air in front of her, silencing her further.  
  
"Please," he said, more softly. "Blair Sandburg. He was at the police banquet-he was shot. I just-I just need to know if he's alive. Can you tell me that much?" he pleaded.  
  
The nurse closed her mouth and patted the captain's arm. "I'll be right back," she said before turning and pushing her way to an exam room.  
  
Simon turned and studied the walls until he found Jim, right where he'd left him minutes before. The detective was leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.   
  
"Officer?" a gentle voice asked and Simon turned to see that the nurse was back.  
  
"I don't know much, but Mr. Sandburg is alive. They've taken him up to surgery. Fourth floor. Just take the red elevator to four then follow the purple lines. They'll lead you to a nurse's station. Just ask about him there-they'll know more." The nurse turned away, and was immediately engulfed by the swarm of worried bodies.   
  
Simon pushed his way back to Jim's side and pushed the other man towards the elevator. "He's in surgery. They'll know more there." The ride was silent and Simon studied his quiet friend.   
  
"How are you doing Jim?" he asked.  
  
"Fine. I'm fine. I didn't get shot. I'm fine," the detective answered, his voice empty and lifeless.  
  
"I know that Jim. I meant, how are you in here?" Simon asked, patting Jim's chest.  
  
"I can't let myself feel anything right now Simon. It's too much. If I let myself think that Sandburg might not make it-I just can't," he finished lamely.   
  
"He's not going to die Jim. You have to believe that." A small bell sounded and the elevator doors slid open. Simon exited and waited for Jim before following the purple taped line around the corner and through a large set of automatic doors. He approached the desk.  
  
"I need information about a patient-Blair Sandburg."  
  
The nurse behind the desk looked up. "Are you family?" she asked, disbelieving.   
  
Pulling out his badge again, Simon handed it to her. "He's one of my men. Got shot at the PD banquet. I was told downstairs that he was brought up for surgery." Simon accepted his badge back and tucked into his jacket.  
  
"Was his mother called?" Jim interrupted.   
  
"Let me check, sir." The nurse flipped open a file and nodded. "Yes sir, a Naomi Sandburg was called and is driving in now."  
  
"Good, that's good," Jim mumbled.  
  
"His condition?" Simon prompted.  
  
"I should really wait for his mother to arrive," the nurse hedged.  
  
"Please," Simon asked, hopeful that this nurse would be as understanding as the one in the ER.  
  
"I suppose I can tell you. It's going to be included in the police report anyway. Mr. Sandburg was shot in the chest. The bullet nicked the pericardium."  
  
"Oh god, his heart." The strangled cry came from Jim.   
  
After flicking a concerned glance at Jim, the nurse continued. "They're repairing that now. I really can't tell you any more," the nurse said, looking from Simon to Jim and back to Simon.  
  
Simon wrapped his arm around Jim's shoulders and turned to lead him over to the chairs. "Thank you," he said, turning his head back to the nurse.   
  
The men sat and waited and watched as the clock ticked past minutes and then hours. Simon heard the whoosh of the doors sliding open, and winced as a familiar voice called out, "Jim!"  
  
Jim sprang from his chair and raced across the floor and into the arms of Naomi Sandburg. "I'm so sorry Naomi," his muffled voice said into her hair where his face was pressed.  
  
The redhead stiffened and her bloodshot eyes grew wide. "Is he . . .?"  
  
"No!" Simon answered, jumping out of his chair. "He's in surgery."  
  
Jim released Naomi and stood back. "Sorry. I didn't mean for you to think-to think that," his voice faltered.   
  
"Oh Jim. Are you okay?" As her son often did, Naomi put aside her own pain and wrapped her arm around Jim's waist.   
  
"Yeah. It's just been one hell of day," Jim said as he rubbed at his eyes. "My-my dad. He was at the banquet. Came to surprise me. Said he was proud. He's never said that before," Jim choked as tears began to stream down his face.   
  
Naomi turned shocked eyes to Simon. Receiving a silent nod, Naomi could feel her own eyes fill and overflow. Pulling Jim back into her embrace, she held him until he began to pull away.  
  
"Sorry," he apologized.  
  
"No-you cry Jim. If you need to cry, then you cry. Are you hearing me?" she asked anxiously.  
  
"Yeah Naomi, I hear you," Jim agreed, smiling slightly.  
  
The trio was interrupted by the approach of a tall Asian man in green scrubs. "Mrs. Sandburg?" the doctor asked, looking at Naomi.   
  
"Ms. Sandburg," Naomi corrected, then shook her head. "My son, how is he?"  
  
The doctor gestured to the chairs. "Let's sit." When the small group was seated he began. "I'm doctor Kao, I performed the surgery on Mr. Sandburg . . ."  
  
"Blair, please," Naomi requested.  
  
"Okay," the surgeon said gently. "Blair was shot in the chest and the bullet lodged in the pericardium-the sack surrounding the heart. It stopped there. If it hadn't, Blair wouldn't have made it. As it was, it was touch and go. We lost him on the table twice, but were able to get him back quickly. There should be no long term effects from that. You should know that Blair was suffering from a pericardial effusion when he was brought in to the ER and a pericardial centesis was performed down there."  
  
"What does that mean, exactly?" Simon interrupted.  
  
"There was blood building in the pericardium, putting pressure on Blair's heart. His heart stopped beating in the ER and they had to drain the excess fluid from the sack to reduce the pressure. He was stabilized and brought up to surgery. We had to open his chest to remove the bullet and repair the damage done to the pericardium. We're moving him to recovery right now. His EKG is good-his heart is strong. It's going to take him a while to get back on his feet, but he's going to be just fine. Once he's awake, he'll be moved to the CCU." At the fearful look in the surrounding faces, he hurried to explain. "It's just a precaution until we know for sure there are going to be no complications. Once we're satisfied, he'll be moved to the ICU and then later a regular room. Once that happens, we'll move quickly getting him on his feet and moving around."  
  
Turning to face Naomi, he said seriously, "Your son was very lucky. He's going to need all the support he can get during his recovery. It's not going to be easy for him." Standing, he looked down at the redhead. "You can come and see him for a minute. After that, you'll have to wait until he's settled in the CCU."  
  
Naomi stood to follow but quickly turned to Jim and embraced him. "He's alive. He's going to be fine," she said, new tears in her eyes.  
  
Jim nodded and collapsed wearily into his chair. Simon patted the other man's knee.  
  
"You want to call Steven now?" Simon asked.  
  
Leaning forward, Jim dropped his head into his hands. "What do I say?" he asked weakly. "How do I tell my brother that his dad is gone? They never had the chance to say goodbye. How do I tell him that I finally got to hear how much I am loved and he didn't?"  
  
"Maybe he did Jim. Maybe your father took the opportunity to let Steven know how much he meant to him. Don't assume he doesn't know. And if he doesn't, than you tell him Jim. You tell him how proud of both his sons he was. You tell him that." Simon stood and laid his hand on Jim's shoulder. "I'm going to take a walk-give you some privacy."  
  
Jim watched his friend walk away and finally pulled out his cell phone. After dialing in a string of numbers, he waited for the familiar voice.  
  
'Hello?' Steven's voice was strong, awake. Probably walked out of a meeting or lunch to take the call. Jim's brother, unlike Jim, followed the senior Ellison onto the path of business transactions and financial exchanges. Yet like his older brother, Steven did it far away from their father. He was now in Tokyo conducting business.  
  
"Stevie?" Jim's voice cracked, as he struggled not to cry.  
  
'Jim? What's wrong? What happened? Did something happen to Blair?' the younger man panicked, hearing the grief in his brother's voice.  
  
"No-well, yes. But that's not why I'm calling. Stevie, dad was shot tonight. He's dead." There, he'd said it.   
  
'No. Tell me this is a joke Jimmy. Tell me it isn't true!' the voice pleaded.  
  
"I'm so sorry Stevie. Can you come home?" Jim asked, the tears flowing freely now.  
  
'How Jim? How? What happened?'  
  
"Please, Stevie. I'll explain when you get here. I can't go over it on the phone," Jim pleaded, knowing his brother had a right to know, but not able to repeat it so soon.  
  
'This had something to do with your work didn't it? You said something happened to Blair. Was he shot too? Was dad involved in a case? Oh god, Jim. Was dad killed because of your police work?' There it was. That was what Jim had been fighting-denying.   
  
"Yes," Jim's voice was strangled. "Yes!" he repeated, more loudly. "Please, Stevie. Come home and let me explain-please," his voice faltered. Jim's eyes were clenched tightly and he did not see the large figure approach. He did feel as the phone was taken from his hand.  
  
"Steven? This is Captain Banks. I'm sorry about your father. He and Jim were in attendance at the annual Officer of the Year awards banquet. Someone opened fire into the courtyard where the banquet was being held. Your father was hit and killed. Jim's partner, Blair was also hit. He's alive, barely. Jim doesn't need your blame-he has enough guilt. But he does need you here." Simon was silent as he listened. "Okay. Call when you're close to Cascade and I'll send a squad car to pick you up at the airport." He paused again. "Uhuh. He's holding his own right now. I'll tell him. Goodbye."   
  
Simon folded the phone and handed it back to Jim. "He's on his way."  
  
"He blames me."  
  
"No-he wants to blame someone, something for what happened. He's grieving, just like you." Simon fell quiet and the men waited for Naomi to return. Finally, she appeared and led them to the CCU.   
  
"I have to head back to the station Jim. You going to be okay?" Simon asked, doubtful.  
  
"He'll be fine," Naomi assured the captain. "We'll be fine," she amended, as she took Jim's hand in her own.  
  
"Call me if you need anything-either of you," Simon said before taking his leave.  
  
Jim clutched Naomi's hand tightly and looked at the far wall. "He's not going to die," he said, testing the words.  
  
Naomi put her arm around him and lay her head on his shoulder. "He's going to live Jim. He needs us now-more than ever. I can't brush this off-not like I used to. Can't send him to my brother, can't send him off to school. For once, I have to be here until my son tells me I can go. I won't fail him, not this time," she vowed.  
  
Turning and looking at the still figure beside her, she squeezed him gently. "I'm here for you too Jim. You lost your father today-I remember that pain. You need anything, you tell me. I'm here for the long haul-for both my boys."  
  
Jim nodded his head slowly in response. "Thank you," he whispered before standing and crossing to a row of windows. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. The dawn of a new day and hopefully the pain would begin to fade like the darkness of the night.   
  
It was another hour before Blair was brought to the CCU. Jim stood nervously outside the door, barely listening to the doctor. He only caught fractions of what was being said, but heard enough to know that Blair was alive and breathing on his own. He'd been awake long enough for them to be comfortable moving him into the CCU. Now, Jim just wanted to see his friend with his own eyes; to know that he hadn't lost everything in one nightmarish moment.   
  
A light touch on his arm snapped him out of his reverie. "Jim?" Naomi's gentle voice called.  
  
"Yeah. Can we go in?" Jim asked turning to face her.  
  
"Only for a few minutes. He's still very weak and they want him to rest." Naomi pulled on Jim's arm, leading him into the dim room.  
  
Blair lay in the bed, his eyes closed and his breathing even. Jim knew that he was breathing on his own, but was still relieved to see his partner unencumbered by a bulky breathing tube. Feeling his chest tighten as he looked at his still guide, Jim stepped closer and took a lax hand in his own.   
  
"Blair," he whispered, tears forming again in his eyes. Releasing the hand, he scrubbed at his betraying eyes. "Damn!" he muttered as he swiped at the tears.  
  
"It's okay Jim. Tears are good-they're renewing. Let them flow. It's hard, I know, but you'll be okay. I promise." Naomi had her arms wrapped around the grieving man and gently kissed a wet cheek.   
  
A sound from behind them made them both jump. Turning, they saw a sleepy pair of eyes squinting at them.   
  
"Hey," a tiny voice whispered and even Jim had to strain to hear it. "Tha," the voice stuck and then tried again. "That's my mom" it croaked.  
  
"Blair, sweetie," Naomi gushed as she hurried to his side. Jim stood back and watched as mother and son reconnected. Jim shuffled his feet and glanced up, finally noticing that the gaze had lingered on him.  
  
"Hey Chief," Jim whispered as he drew closer. The eyes followed him and Jim finally noticed the thin wet trail down a pale cheek.  
  
"I know-you probably don't feel too good right now. You go head and sleep. Naomi and I are going to be right here. You're not alone, okay?" Jim reassured his frightened guide.  
  
"'Kay," the weak voice answered. Blair blinked and a small smile formed before he drifted off to sleep again.  
  
"He's going to be okay," Naomi whispered, leaning against Jim.  
  
"Yeah, he is," Jim agreed. "We're going to be okay," he amended.  
  
"I know we are Jim. I know we are," Naomi declared as the pair quietly left the room.  
  
"We have to be," Jim said. "He needs us." 


	2. Recovering

Recovering  
By: Victoria May  
  
"Tell me Steven, why are we going through this again? I've already said 'no' and I meant it." Jim Ellison shook his head and walked towards the kitchen. "Jeez, you're worse than San. . . never mind. Just, no, okay? No." Reaching into the ancient refrigerator, he grabbed a beer and swung the door shut. Searching in an open drawer, he finally pulled out a bottle opener and swiftly removed the cap from his beer. He tossed both the cap and the opener onto the countertop and stalked away.   
  
Steven Ellison, younger brother to Jim and son of the deceased William Ellison, followed Jim out of the loft and out onto the patio. "Jim, it's only for the day. They were dad's friends, Jim. We owe it to him to pay our respects."  
  
"We don't owe him anything!" Jim snapped, turning away from the low brick enclosure. Grimacing at his own quick temper, Jim softened his voice. "Look Stevie. I can't do this right now. Not yet. Sandburg's still recovering and I don't want to leave him alone."  
  
"Oh, he won't be alone Jim," a new voice answered as Naomi Sandburg swept through the patio doors.   
  
"Naomi," Jim grunted, turning back to stare at the skyline.  
  
"Now what are you boys arguing about?" Naomi asked as she pulled each one into a hug, placing kisses on their cheeks.  
  
"We're not arguing Naomi," Steven assured the pretty redhead.  
  
"Yes, we are," Jim contradicted. "But we're done now, because I'm not going."  
  
"Where aren't you going?" Naomi asked.  
  
"Nowhere," Jim snorted while Steven answered,  
  
"I ran into some friends of dad's. They've invited Jim and me to dinner and now Jim won't go." Turning back to his brother, he added, "I told them we'd be there Jim."  
  
Jim cocked his eyebrow and tipped the dark bottle at his lips. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he replied, "And that's my problem how? Look Stevie, you promised them we'd be there, fine. You go. Just make an excuse-tell them I'm sick, tell them I'm so overwrought I can't get out bed. I don't care-make something up!"  
  
"Jim," Naomi began.  
  
Jim lifted his hand and shook his head. "No. Sandburg's not ready to be left alone yet, and I'm not going."  
  
Angry green eyes met his. "Don't you dare use my son as an excuse Jim. You know as well as I do that I am entirely capable of taking care of my son by myself. Now, if you don't want to leave because you're worried about him, then fine. But don't confuse being worried with some unhealthy belief that you are the only person who can care for my son."  
  
Jim turned and walked back into the living room, the others following. "You're right. I'm sorry Naomi. I didn't mean to suggest that you aren't capable of taking care of your son."  
  
"So?" Naomi walked up to Jim and ran her hands up and down his arms, trying to soothe away the building tension. "You need to get out Jim. You can't stay cooped up inside like this. It isn't healthy. It's not good for you, and it isn't good for Blair."  
  
Pulling away from her touch as though it were tainted, Jim asked, "Oh? And just how is it hurting Blair? He needs someone to be here right now. I'm on bereavement leave and I'm choosing to use it to be here for my friend. How is that hurting him?"  
  
"Oh Jim. Haven't you seen how concerned he is for you? He's afraid to ask too much of you right now. He knows how much you're still grieving for your father. But he won't say anything-that's just the way he is. But he needs a break too Jim. He needs to know that you're getting on with your life so he can move on with his."  
  
"So you're saying that I'm keeping him from getting better? Because that's what I'm hearing here," Jim said angrily.  
  
"No! That's not what I meant at all. It's just, the negative karma isn't good for Blair. You're stressed, he's stressed. You need to work through your feelings Jim. You know how sensitive Blair is. He's so concerned about you, he's focusing all his energy on taking care of you instead of on getting well," Naomi explained gently.  
  
Jim slammed his bottle onto the coffee table. "Fine! You want me to leave so badly, I'm leaving." He approached the door and swung it open. "Maybe now Blair can get well, since I won't be here to cause any more negative karma!" he snarled as he stormed out of the apartment. The door slammed shut behind him.  
  
"Well, gee, that went well," Steven said sarcastically as he dropped onto the couch.  
  
"Oh dear. I didn't mean to upset him. He's still in so much pain. I just want him let go of some of his anger. It really is having an effect on Blair," Naomi sighed as she sat next to Steven.   
  
Behind them, the glass doors to the small bedroom swung open and a bedraggled figure appeared. "What is going on out here?" the rumpled and sleepy man demanded.  
  
Naomi got to her feet and rushed to her son's side. "Let me help you dear," she said, as she took his arm.   
  
"I can do it!" Blair grumbled as he pulled his arm away. Shuffling slowly, Blair finally made his way to the empty couch. Blair reached out and grabbed a pillow from the pile of bedding folded at the foot of the couch. Cradling it to his chest, he slowly leaned back and sighed.  
  
"So?" he asked, looking at the guilty faces across from him.  
  
"It's nothing dear. Jim just went out for some air," Naomi lied.  
  
Blair narrowed his eyes and turned to Steven. "Steve? What happened?" he asked, pressing the pillow to his chest as he leaned forward.  
  
Steven threw up his arms in exasperation. "I just wanted him to come with me to have dinner with friends of dad's. I didn't know he'd be so difficult."  
  
Blair shook his head before dropping it face first into his pillow. "And you pushed him, didn't you? Both of you?"  
  
"He needs to get out and start living his life again!" Steven said, his own anger growing at being scolded like a child.  
  
"He is living his life!" Blair snapped back before being seized by a coughing fit that wracked his whole frame. Doubling over, he clutched the pillow tighter to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. "Shit!" he wheezed when he was able to breathe again.  
  
Naomi rushed to her son's side and wrapped her arm around him. "Blair, are you all right?" she demanded, her voice weak and frightened.   
  
"I'm fine," Blair gasped, still struggling to regain his breath.   
  
"How is this living his life?" Steven demanded.  
  
"He's with the people he cares about-who mean something to him. That's what Jim's life is about. Not catering to some rich snobs who maybe saw your father in the boardroom or out on the golf course. He could care less about those people. He doesn't lock himself away-he's been to see Sally and made arrangements for her. But nothing else matters to him right now. Jim doesn't let people get very close to him, and when he does, it hits him hard if he loses them. Don't tell him that he's less of a person because of that. For him to love so deeply, that's a gift man. Can't you see that?" Blair finished his speech and panted, trying to regain his breath.  
  
Steven shook his head and leaned back against the couch. "I'm sorry. You're right. I just hate that I don't know him-he's changed so much since we were kids."  
  
"He's been through a lot since then," Blair agreed. "I'm sure you've changed too. He used to take care of you, now you don't need him for that anymore. That's hard for him too, you know? It's what he does, he takes care of people. He's trying to figure out where you fit in his life now."  
  
"I have no idea," Steven mumbled as he ran his hands over his face. "Maybe it's time for me to leave. He doesn't need me here trying to tell him how to act. We're too different. We just keep stepping on each other's toes."  
  
Blair shook his head weakly. "Don't leave man. He needs you, even if he won't admit it. And so what if you're different? Look at me, I'm as different from Jim as you can get. He's my best friend despite how different we are. You're his brother-that means something, especially to Jim. Just give him space. Let him do this at his own pace."  
  
"You're right. You're right!" Steven agreed, throwing his arms into the air. "I've got to go," he said, rising from the couch. "I did promise the Nickelson's I'd come for dinner and it's too late to cancel. Tell Jim I'll be back tomorrow."  
  
Naomi followed the younger Ellison to the door. "Steven, I'm sure Jim is fine. You go and try to relax. You need to clear your head too-that negative karma isn't just Jim's fault."  
  
Steven laughed and kissed Naomi on the cheek.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"I know, she's your mom, keep my paws to myself," Steven joked with Blair. "I'll see you tomorrow Blair," Steven said, excusing himself.  
  
Naomi shut and locked the door. "You want some dinner?" she asked her son.  
  
"Not yet," Blair said as he wiggled on the couch, trying to get comfortable.  
  
"Do you need to lie down?" Naomi asked, concerned.  
  
"No," Blair answered as he squirmed some more. "I'm tired of lying down. I want to sit up for awhile."  
  
"Okay sweetie," Naomi agreed as she sat down again at her son's side. Blair sagged against her, leaning his head on her arm.   
  
"Where did Jim go?" he asked in a quiet voice.  
  
Naomi sighed. "I don't know. He was so angry when he left. I'm so sorry Blair. I didn't mean to upset him. I really believed that he needed to get out and get a change of scenery too. It wasn't just Steven."  
  
"Mom!" Blair said as sat up and looked at his mother.  
  
Naomi stood and grabbed the two remaining pillows from the end of couch. After arranging them on the arm of the couch, she ushered Blair to turn and lean against them. When Blair was stretched out across the couch, she unfolded a soft yellow blanket and spread it over him. When she was satisfied that he was comfortably ensconced on the couch, she walked into the kitchen.  
  
"What would you like for dinner Blair?" she called out as she pulled open a cabinet and peered inside.   
  
"Whatever you want is fine Naomi," Blair muttered as he grabbed the TV remote.  
  
Sometime later, across town, a door swung open and two men staggered through.   
  
"Damn Jim, what were you drinking?" the taller, colored man grumbled as he dragged his companion to a nearby car.  
  
"Saaawreee siiir," the drunk man giggled.   
  
"Don't sorry me, just get your drunk ass in there before I leave you here," Captain Simon Banks threatened. "Calling me at midnight to come pick your sorry ass up. What am I, a taxi service?" he grumbled some more.  
  
"Not, not a tax, tax, taxi ssssir. Friend. Goo frien," Jim slurred as he reached out and clumsily patted his boss on the cheek.   
  
"Ah Jim. Don't get all mushy on me. Wait until you're home. Sandburg just eats that stuff up."  
  
"No. Not goin' home," the drunk man grunted. "Neg, neg, ne. . .bad karrrmma."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about Ellison? Bad karma? You've been spending way too much time with Naomi my friend," Simon said as he started the engine.  
  
Jim leaned over and grabbed his friend's hand. "Sim'n. Puhleez. Can't go hooome. Blair neeeds resst," he begged.  
  
"Okay, okay. You can come home with me, but only for tonight!" Simon agreed reluctantly.  
  
The drive to Simon's house was a quiet one. Jim had fallen into a light sleep in the seat next to him and Simon found himself glancing over to make sure his friend was still breathing. It wasn't often that he witnessed his best detective so inebriated and the effect was disturbing. To see such an in control, type A personality so utterly out of control that he was currently drooling in his sleep, well, it wasn't an image he wanted to remember.   
  
Simon sighed in relief as he pulled into his dark driveway. Home-finally. He shook and tugged and practically carried the drunken man into his home. After dragging Jim into Daryl's bedroom, AKA the 'spare room' when Daryl was with his mother, he dumped his friend onto the bed. He rolled his eyes as the unconscious man moaned and turned over. A pale hand snaked out and grabbed a pillow, pulling it into the lax arms.   
  
Grimacing as Jim rubbed his sweaty face into his son's favorite pillow, Simon shook his head and went to work removing his guest's shoes. He wasn't about to strip the near-comatose man, but he didn't want him to suffocate either. So Simon quickly removed Jim's belt and loosened his collar.   
  
Hoping that he would finally be able to get some much needed sleep, Simon gave into the urge to yawn and shuffled down the hall to his own, recently abandoned bed. The large police captain dropped off to sleep immediately, his long arms and legs splayed across the queen sized bed.   
  
He woke, hours later to the sound of retching floating down the hall from the tiny bathroom. Groaning, Simon sat up and rubbed his face wearily. He glanced at the clock and was somewhat appeased to see that he had gotten in another five hours sleep before the 'morning after' engaged.  
  
Throwing back the bedding, Simon perched on the side of his mattress. Squinting his eyes, he peered around the room and tried to focus enough to see where he had thrown his tee-shirt before climbing into bed. His tired, bloodshot eyes finally landed on the discarded blue Cascade PD tee and he staggered towards it. Grabbing it off the floor near the large, antique bureau he'd inherited from his father when he'd died, he pulled it over his head and turned back to the bed. Snatching his eyeglasses off the side table, he settled them on his nose, the room immediately coming into welcome focus.   
  
"Jim?" he called out as he walked slowly down the hall. He was answered by the renewed sound of retching and a low moan. Chuckling just once, he quickly schooled his face into a more serious expression.  
  
"You alive in here?" he asked as he stood in the small bathroom's open doorway. Jim was slumped in front of the toilet bowl, his head lying on his arm atop the flimsy toilet seat.  
  
"Barely," the sick man answered, not raising his head.  
  
"You want some breakfast? I could make some omelets or some oatmeal or one of those green shakes Sandburg likes so much," Simon offered, a grin creeping onto his bristled face.  
  
"Fuck Simon!" was his only reply as Jim once again hunched over the ceramic bowl and emptied his stomach.   
  
After the heaving ended, Jim flushed the toilet and staggered to his feet. "I've got to go home. I shouldn't have left. Shit, what if something happened and I wasn't there?" he said as a new feeling of panic settled over him.  
  
Simon held up his hands and used his body to keep Jim in the confined space. "Jim! Naomi would have called me if something had happened. Settle down. Clean yourself up and I'll take you home. There's a spare toothbrush under the sink. Be quick about it, because I'm hungry and I'd like to get back here and eat breakfast before lunchtime."  
  
"I don't have time for that Simon," Jim protested, attempting to push his way past his larger host.  
  
"You do have time and you will clean yourself up detective! That's an order mister!" Simon growled, his patience growing thinner by the minute. "Besides," he added. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me what that was all about last night. I've never known you to go out drinking by yourself, let alone tying one on so tight you pass out before I can get you home. And that crap about bad karma, I want to hear all about it Jim."  
  
Simon showered after Jim finished in the bathroom. When both were finally clean and dressed, Simon joined Jim in the kitchen for an impromptu breakfast of cold cereal, toast, and juice.   
  
"So what's all this about bad karma?" Simon asked before shoveling a large spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.  
  
"Negative karma," Jim corrected as he warily took a small bite of dry toast.  
  
Exasperated, Simon asked again, "Fine, what's all this about negative karma?"  
  
"It's just something Naomi said. She thinks I'm causing Sandburg more stress," Jim said, tossing his toast back onto the plate and slouching dejectedly in his chair.  
  
Simon took a drink of his orange juice. Setting his glass on the table, he wiped his mouth. "Well, are you?" he asked.  
  
"No!" Jim denied, immediately cringing at the belligerent tone of his own voice. "Sorry."  
  
"Are you sure about that? Because right now you're causing me stress and I'm not the one laid up after having my chest cut open to take out a bullet that almost ended my life," Simon asked, his face serious. Without waiting for a response, the large black man stood and began to clear the table. After stacking the dishes in the dishwasher, he came back to the table and lowered himself into his chair.  
  
Looking his friend in the eye, he said, "Look Jim. You've been through something traumatic. You've lost your father. I know how painful that is."  
  
Jim cut his friend off. "No Simon. You don't know. Me and my dad-we didn't have what you had with your dad. We never had the time to just kick back and shoot the bull. We never got to fire up the barbecue." Jim got out of his chair and began to pace. "I've never felt him slap me on the back and tell me 'well done'. He's never been to the loft for dinner-hell, he's never seen the loft Simon! He wasn't at my wedding. He wasn't there when I got divorced. When I was rescued in Peru, he sent a check-no letter, no scribbled note asking me to call-nothing, just that damn check. When I graduated from the academy, there was no one there to cheer." Jim leaned against a window and stood looking out into the backyard.  
  
"I'm sorry," Simon offered gruffly.  
  
"Yeah well," Jim said, wiping a hand across his face. "Shit happens, isn't that what they say? Just when you think things are coming together, they go to hell in a hand basket. I mean, I really thought things were going to be different. Here was my dad, finally showing an interest in my life. We were making plans for Thanksgiving even. He was finally going to see the loft. He wanted to get to know me Simon. Me-not the son he thought he should have had, but the son he did have."   
  
Jim's voice cracked and Simon could the normally stoic detective's shoulders begin to shake. Jim clutched at the window frame, his fingers white from the pressure.  
  
"Why Simon? Why did he have to die now? Why was he there? Why did he have to choose now to be the dad I'd always wanted? Why did he have to say those things? It would be so much easier if I still hated him . . .." Jim choked and couldn't hold the sobs back any longer.  
  
Simon lurched out his chair and hurried to his friend's side. Wrapping his long arms around the distraught man, he pulled Jim close to his chest.   
  
"God Jim, I am so sorry. I'm so sorry," he repeated as he clutched his friend tightly. He could feel Jim's hands fisting his shirt and a dampness spreading on this shoulder.  
  
"Why did that asshole have to open fire?" Jim sobbed.  
  
"He's crazy Jim-pure and simple. Thought he was gonna take out the force in one night. You know that. You've read his file. You've seen the shit he's pulled in the past. He just thought he was going to up the ante." Simon rubbed the trembling back.  
  
"You okay?" he asked his friend once the sobs had dwindled.  
  
"I'm okay, I'm okay," Jim murmured as he tried to pull away. Simon's arms unwrapped, but the brown hands clutched at his forearms.   
  
"You don't have to be okay Jim. You don't always have to be the strong one. You have friends and you have your brother. Let us be strong for once. Lean on us and let us take care of you for a change." Simon's brown eyes met and held Jim's blue ones.   
  
"I can't . . ." Jim began.  
  
"You can!" Simon insisted. "You have to."  
  
"Sandburg needs me," Jim protested.  
  
"Sandburg has you, doesn't he? He doesn't need superman. He just needs to know you're okay. He knows you Jim. He knows you haven't dealt with any of this. If he were up and on his feet and one hundred percent, he'd have been in your face a long time ago. How hard do you think all of this has been on him? He wants to help you, but he barely has the strength to get out of bed. That must be killing him. You owe it to him to let someone else be strong for you. Instead of holding each other up, just be there and let me and Naomi and the rest of your friends hold you up. Can you do that?" Simon asked, his eyes searching Jim's face, looking for the answer there.  
  
"I can try," Jim reluctantly agreed.  
  
"That's all I'm asking Jim." Simon finally released his friend. "No more benders, you hear me? I ain't no taxi cab," he grunted.   
  
"I hear you," Jim agreed. "Can we go now? I've got some groveling to do at home."  
  
Simon chuckled as he pulled on his jacket. "That you do my friend, that you do."  
  
It was close to nine when the pair arrived at the loft. Jim let them in and was met immediately by Naomi. Worry and anger warred for control and Jim took a cautious step back.  
  
"Jim, Captain Banks," Naomi said as she approached. "Are you all right Jim?" the peace-loving woman asked.  
  
"I'm fine," Jim answered as he slipped out of his coat. He twisted to hang it on a hook behind him. As he turned back, he said, "I'm sorry, I know you were probably worried."  
  
"It's not me you need to apologize to," she answered, her words scalding.  
  
"How's the kid?" Simon asked as he stepped past Jim.  
  
"Blair's still asleep. He refused to go to bed. I finally threatened to hide his laptop today if he didn't go to bed. That was at three. I didn't know what else to do," Naomi admitted quietly.  
  
Jim crossed the room and cocked his head, listening to the sounds from within the small bedroom. Satisfied that his young roommate was sleeping, Jim slowly turned the door handle and eased the door open. Blair lay with his back propped up by a large pile of pillows. His head was turned away, but Jim could hear his raspy breaths.   
  
Naomi joined Jim in the doorway. "Come on Jim," she coaxed, placing her hand on his arm.  
  
Jim shook his head and remained where he was. "I won't wake him. I just want to see that he's okay," he said.  
  
As if on cue, Blair's breathing began to change and the head turned towards the door. Tired blue eyes squinted at the pair in the doorway.  
  
"Jim?" he croaked.  
  
"Yeah, right here buddy," Jim said as he rushed to his friend's side.  
  
"Help me up man," Blair said as he struggled to push himself into a sitting position.  
  
Jim guided his friend until he was steady, then rearranged the pillows to hold him upright.  
  
"Thanks man," Blair said, before doubling over in a coughing fit. Jim snatched an extra pillow from the floor and shoved it into Blair's arms. The short arms wrapped around the stuffed dumpling, and he leaned into it. The coughs finally eased, but Blair remained doubled over, gasping for breath.  
  
Jim reached for his friend, but Blair slapped away the invading hands. "Shit," he managed before cautiously leaning back. "Where have you been?" the younger man demanded.  
  
"He was with me," Simon offered from the doorway.  
  
"You smell like a brewery," Blair commented to his roommate distastefully before turning back to Simon. "You took him out drinking?" he accused.  
  
"No, he took himself out drinking. I was just the one he called at one a.m. this morning," Simon hastily explained his innocence.  
  
"Oh," Blair said before studying his quiet partner. "Did it help?"  
  
"Not really," Jim admitted, smiling sheepishly.  
  
"Why didn't you come home?" Blair asked, trying to keep the hurt he was feeling off of his expressive face.  
  
Jim shrugged. "I was having a tantrum. I didn't like hearing the truth and I guess I thought I would rub it in some more."  
  
"Gee, thanks Jim," Blair said, offended.  
  
"It wasn't you I was mad at short stuff," Jim said before tweaking a strand of wavy flyaway hair. "Naomi and Steven said some stuff that I guess just hit home."  
  
"About your dad," Blair guessed.  
  
"About dad, and about you," Jim explained. "I haven't been dealing with what happened-with losing dad. I didn't want to think about it, so I've been focusing all my attention on you."  
  
"Hey, I don't mind," Blair joked.  
  
"Yeah, well, I've been informed it's not the best thing for you or for me. You haven't exactly been able to concentrate on getting better," Jim stated.  
  
"What?" Blair exclaimed.   
  
"Don't try to kid me Blair," Jim scolded. "You've been doing what you always do-try and make me feel better. But you don't need to do that. It makes me feel better just having you around, okay?"  
  
"Jeez, get all mushy on a guy," Blair said, his face tinged with pink.  
  
Jim laughed and stood up. "You gonna lay there all day or are you planning on getting up?"  
  
Blair threw back his covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Gonna lay there all day?" he mimicked sarcastically. Waving his hand at Jim he asked, "Wanna give a guy a hand here? Nature's calling, you know?"  
  
Jim reached down and gently hauled the smaller man to his feet. "You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm good."   
  
Jim turned to follow the others from the room, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned back to face his guide.  
  
"Are you okay?" Blair asked seriously.  
  
"Yeah, I'm okay Chief. I've got a ways to go, but I'm getting better," Jim admitted.  
  
"Steve was really upset last night," Blair informed his partner.  
  
"I can imagine," Jim said, sighing. "I know I've got a lot of bridges to mend. It's just not easy for me, you know?"  
  
"I know. But we understand. Even Steve," Blair reassured the older man. Shuffling past Jim, he muttered, "I really gotta go."  
  
Jim's voice stopped him as he got to the doorway. "Hey Blair? I'm really glad I didn't lose you too."  
  
"Ah jeez man, get mushy on a guy when he's on a mission," he groaned as he turned around and wrapped his arms around his friend's waist. "I'm really glad too Jim," he said softly.  
  
Finally pulling away, Blair looked at his friend. "I don't need you here twenty-four seven," he reluctantly admitted. "But just so you know, I like having you around. Just don't feel like you have to stop living your life because of me. Okay?"  
  
"Yeah Chief, okay," Jim agreed. "And just so you know. I like being around twenty-four seven. I'm your blessed protector, remember? But I promise, if I need some time away, I'll take it. I made the mistake of insinuating that Naomi can't take care of you-it won't happen again," Jim joked.   
  
"You didn't!" Blair exclaimed, a look of horror on his face. "And you're still alive?"  
  
"I think she cut me some slack this time Chief," Jim teased as he wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders. He gently guided his young friend out of the room and turned him towards the bathroom.   
  
"Now go, complete your mission," he commanded, his only answer the soft snick of the bathroom door as it swung shut.  
  
END 


End file.
